


Why Ron Swanson hates Chris Trager's internship program

by Cutebutpsycho



Category: Cabin Pressure, Parks and Recreation
Genre: crossover fun!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:49:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutebutpsycho/pseuds/Cutebutpsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this tumblr prompt when I asked for a crossover pairing and a line of dialogue: </p>
<p>Arthur Shappey and Ron Swanson “Three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-two.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Ron Swanson hates Chris Trager's internship program

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/gifts).



It was unfortunate that Chris Traeger was his superior, Ron mused. Because this latest scheme of his would normally result in a stern talking too that perhaps ended in a mighty staredown, Sadly, Chris was immune to the Swanson stare, and as his superior, Ron had to deal with the city manager’s latest idea (“It’s literally the best thing for our city — expanding our international education!”).

Chris’ idea was to participate an exchange program with their new sister city — some English town called Fitton. In exchange for April (APRIL! The worst assistant he ever had!) Ron was sent an overly eager, cheerful and inept intern named Arthur Shappey.

“How old are you again?” Ron asked, fixing a hard stare at the man. He had brown tousled hair, a baby face and an unsettlingly cheerful smile. 

“Thirty sir,” Arthur replied (for that was his name). 

“I thought interns were college students.”

“Well, they are,” Arthur cheerfully said. “I’m an adult student you see — my mum had an airline — well, more like an airdot really — and we had some staffing changes and she thought it might be helpful if I learned some other skills.”

“What skills do you have?”

“I’m very good at charades, serving other people — Mum often says that I’m too helpful sometimes — and I’m a champion at the game of Yellow Car — that’s where you —”

“Say Yellow car when you see a yellow car.”

“Brilliant! You have that game here too? Mum says that I’m the champ!”

“What’s your score?”

“Three-thousand, seven hundred and eighty two, but the chaps say that taxis don’t count, so the score might be lower — well, if you’re keeping score,” Arthur babbled.

Ron squeezed his eyes shut. This was going to be a very, very long day. 


End file.
